Friday, December 30, 2016

I probably haven't seen Becky DiNolfi for 20-some years, yet I considered her a good friend. Her dear pet pot-bellied pig, Reggie, was the source of our friendship, years ago, when she allowed me the honor of writing about Reggie for my next manuscript, The Celebrated Pet: How Americans Commemorate Their Animal Friends. In talking with Becky about her soulmate, who, (Did I fail to mention?) was of the swine species, I discovered much more than a spectacular swiner, entertainer, therapy pig, and greeter to accepting humans, but I also discovered a prize in human form: Becky DiNolfi herself.

I didn't know Becky as a best friend would, but I knew enough about her, through her relationship with other people and her pig Reggie, that she was an exceptional human being: a good, good soul; a believer in woodland fairies; a friend to pigs and people who love pigs; a supporter of people fighting city halls to keep their pets in their homes; a dynamic person to all she met. She was always happy, positive, and angelic.

And, now, truly, she is an angel.

So, I'm sharing, as a tribute to Becky, my chapter on her pig Reggie, who she loved so much. Becky was so proud of her pig-daughter. They loved each other very much.

Thank you, Becky, for all you have given and taught us about how to live life bigger and better. I imagine you and Reggie having a happy reunion in a place we all dream about.

My Dragon Wings

Species: porcine—pot-bellied pig

Name: Reggie

Born: February 26, 1993

Died: November 5, 2007

Human companion: Rebecca DiNolfi

Reggie

Rebecca’s
eyes flickered open. “Where am I?” she
thought. She peered down the long
expense of white sheet covering her body.
At the end of the bed sat a person in uniform. Becky tried to speak, but a thick pipe filled
her throat, silencing her. Her eyes grew
wide: she was in a hospital with a breathing tube down her trachea. She must have had another heart attack.

The
nurse went to Becky’s side where she lay, eyes frozen awake. “It’s okay, Rebecca. It’s Monday, July 26, 1992. You’re at EinsteinMedicalCenter
in Philadelphia
recovering from your catheterization procedure.
Don’t try to talk. I want you to
relax and let this machine do your breathing for you. As soon as we think you’re heart is stable,
we’ll take it out so that you can breathe on your own and be more comfortable.”

Becky
closed her eyes.

She
remembered her cardiologist had sent her to EinsteinHospital
days ago after she suffered her second heart attack on July 18. With symptoms similar to those of her first
attack in 1991, her local doctor advised she travel to Philadelphia where a catheterization could
determine the point of blockage. Now,
here she was, hooked up to miles of plastic tubing, the air alive with “bleeps”
and “boops” from multiple monitoring
equipment. Something must’ve gone
terribly wrong with the catheterization.

The
next day the nurses removed her breathing tube, and Becky’s friend, Joyce, was
allowed into the room. Joyce’s smile
was strained. “We almost lost you,
kiddo.” She took Becky’s hand: it
had no grip. “Your main descending
artery in your heart collapsed after the catheterization. Your heart stopped.” Suddenly the smile tore apart, and tears
rolled down Joyce’s face. Becky reached
down her leg with her other hand. She
frowned. “It’s a pacemaker,” Joyce
said. “And before you feel what’s on
your other leg, a balloon is sewn in there just in case your heart plans to
pitch a fit again, and they have to do another cath.”

“Did
I die?” Becky said, her lips dry. She tried licking them, but her tongue was
swollen and parched, too.

“Yeah,
hon. You left us for quite awhile. The doctors worked on your for three and a
half hours and were just about ready to pack it in when they heard a faint
heart beat.”

Becky
parted her hospital gown and peered at her chest. Sue’s breath caught in her throat at all the
burn marks. “There’s gotta be thirty
burns here,” Becky whispered, “and my left rib cage hurts like hell. My God!
I did die.”

Two
weeks later Becky’s husband brought her home, along with a suitcase full of
prescriptions. Becky could hardly rest
as the doctor had ordered; she was a prisoner to her medication schedule,
consuming 27 pills daily—to treat a bleeding ulcer, high blood cholesterol,
depression, and unrelenting anxiety attacks.
At home, after her husband left for work, Becky watched the clock
indicating the time to take her fourteenth pill. She felt like a jailbird, shackled to her
ailing body and her pill boxes. Too, she
was hesitant to leave her house for fear of having another heart attack or a
panic attack, which came upon her like some banshee from another
dimension. In all, she felt as though
her former spirit had imploded.

The
only thing partially able to distract from her health problems was her love of reading, particularly books
about pets and animals. After she read Lowell: The True Story of an Existential
Pig, a book about pot-bellied pigs that revealed their keen intelligence
and devotion to their owners, she asked her husband if she get one. He said “yes.”

For
the first time in almost a year and a half after she had her first heart
attack, Becky could concentrate on something other than keeping herself
alive. After combing the local
newspapers, she finally found a breeder selling a litter of pot-bellied
pigs. Wasting no time, she called: one
little black female was left.

At
four weeks of age, the female piglet was no bigger than a Campbell’s soup can. Becky’s first words as she picked up the tiny
black pig, were, “You’re absolutely precious.”
Holding a piglet was so different from a cat or dog. The piglet had heft—solid, with a body of
pure muscle. Becky gazed into her face,
animated by dark, wide, human-like eyes and an energetic, curious nose.

When
Becky picked the piggy up, she didn’t squirm or squeal, as most piglets do when
their feet leave the ground, regardless whether the lifter is a person or a
predator with the animal in its jowls.
This little female must have had a lot of playtime with people because
she seemed to enjoy lying in a person’s arms.
Becky felt drawn to bring the tiny animal up to her face. When she cupped the piglet under her butt and
brought her to her chest, the piglet climbed higher, finally snuggling her head
under Becky’s chin. That gesture sealed
the deal. So, Becky went home to ready
her house for a new pet.

Becky’s
favorite athlete was Reggie White, and even though the piglet was a female,
“Reggie” became her name. At six weeks
old, Reggie, sat in Becky’s lap for the trip home where she found a sturdy
playpen awaiting her. From the beginning
Reggie hated being confined to the playpen, squealing to be fee so that she
could shadow Becky through the house. At
night Reggie went to bed with her family, Becky curling her arms around her
before they fell asleep, face to face.

Immediately
Reggie became Becky’s sidekick. The two
bonded like two pieces of Velcro tape.
Soon they were inseparable: Becky
took the little porker everywhere she went--to the grocery store; the drug
store; the park, where Becky walked Reggie on a tiny harness and lead; the
bank; the shopping mall; and anywhere else.
When Reggie heard Becky’s car keys rattling, she bulleted into the
kitchen and stood still as moss while Becky put on her harness and attached the
lead.

Reggie
sat in Becky’s old Lincoln Continental’s passenger’s seat on a pile of
blankets, her feet propped on the dashboard, her snout pointed straight ahead,
intent on the road. When cars passed on
the right, people went crazy saying, “LOOK!
A LITTLE PIG! A PIG’S RIDING IN
THAT CAR!”

Becky
and Reggie spent every hour of every day together, and Becky discovered within
only a week or two, that Reggie was extremely intelligent. So, Becky began teaching her tricks commonly
taught to dogs: she sat up on her hind legs; she kicked a ball into a net; she
walked a figure eight through Becky’s legs; she walked an “S” around a set of
cones; she rang a bell; she played a plastic organ with her nose; she blew
horns lined up on a rack. Reggie’s
repertoire included over thirty dog tricks.

One
day as Becky set out the kiddie organ for Reggie to practice her tunes, she
clutched her chest. “Oh, my God!” she
yelled. Her husband came running, and
Reggie stared up at her mom.

“What? Is it your heart?”

Becky
looked amazed. “Yes. It is my heart, honey. I haven’t given it any medicine yet today
because all I’ve been doing is playing with Reggie. I’ve forgotten to take all my morning
pills. And, come to think of it, I
forgot to take most of them yesterday, too.

“You
got a what?” Becky’s cardiologist said as she lay comfortably back onto the
examining table.

“I
got myself a pot-bellied pig. Her name
is Reggie, and she’s my soul mate. I’m
so smitten by her that I keep forgetting to take most of my pills. And I’ve never felt better. Reggie has cured all my anxiety and my
depression. I’ve not had a panic attack
since I got her. I have energy. I’m happy.
I can’t wait to start each day.
I’ve taught her tricks--over thirty of them. Ya know, Doctor, she has given me my life
back. So, do you really think I need all
those pills?”

The
doctor examined Becky, went over each of her prescriptions, and said, “You’re
pig apparently has been the best medicine for you. You need only take two of these drugs
anymore. Throw out the rest. You look good, and your heart sounds
fine. See you back here in six months.”

One
day while Reggie was performing her dog tricks, Becky sensed something was
wrong. She just didn’t seem as happy
nudging out notes on the organ and tooting her horns. “What’s the matter, Reggie?” Becky said, laying
a hand on the pig’s back. Reggie looked
back at her, but her eyes weren’t sparkling as usual. Reggie walked over to a horn and blew one
single, blasé “toot” on it, then went back to Becky and curled up in her lap.

“You
don’t like these silly dog tricks anymore, do you, Reggie?” Reggie looked her in the eyes. “Well, then,” Becky said, “We’ll get you something to learn that won’t
bore you to death.”

Becky
began teaching Reggie the alphabet using huge flashcards. She also began taking Reggie to pot-bellied
pig shows at various fairs and festivals.
Reggie loved showing off in classes such as The Waggiest Tail Contest,
The Snag the Donut Contest, the Watermelon-Eating Contest, and The Pretzel On A
String Contest. On the final evening of
the fair, the pot-bellies dressed in costume for the annual piggy pageant, with
the females in gowns and the boys in black satin cummerbunds and bowties.

At
public events people went wild seeing Reggie decked out in her signature
outfit: a necklace of plastic yellow black-eyed Susans, sunglasses with
black-eyed Susans along the rim, a black-eyed Susan on Reggie’s tail, and a
hat, the front brim pinned up with a yellow black-eyed Susan. Adorned from snout to tail, people begged
Becky to touch and hold the pig, the size of a loaf of bread. Children, especially, were drawn to her
magnetic and charming personality. With
her diminutive upturned snout, she looked as though she wore a continuous
grin. If that weren’t enough to charm
even the most jaded onlooker, Reggie began to perform: tooting the horns, carrying a basket of
black-eyed Susans on her nose, and leaping through hoops.

Mornings
at home, however, were devoted to Reggie’s schooling, including practicing the
alphabet and learning to tell the difference between numbers and colors. In a
week’s time Reggie had learned to distinguish thirteen of the letters from each
other. Reggie found the educational
moments intense, and focused on her studies.

In
addition to going to festivals, fairs, various community events, Becky thought
Reggie would also excel at therapy work.
She made world-worn, nervous people calm and anxious teens laugh (pigs
have an uncanny sense of timing), and for even those severely depressed, she
drew a smile. During therapy work,
Reggie’s people skills shined: she stood quietly so that people could pet her,
staying calm if a dish clanked onto the floor and even if one of the residents
pulled her tail.

Reggie
loved older folks, so her popularity at PineRunNursingCenter in Doylestown, Pennsylvania,
came as no surprise. Escorted to the
community room, Reggie and Becky found themselves in the center of a large room
surrounded by dozens of elderly folks in various states of disrepair.

At
first sight of a pig dressed in a black-eyed Susan costume, the oldsters became
suddenly energized, sitting straight, and expectant. Frowns disappeared, replaced by grins and
bright eyes. A few rolled their
wheelchairs right over to Reggie, who didn’t flinch at the cumbersome,
scary-looking object rolling towards her.
Then one wrinkled hand, then a couple other thin, parched hands rubbed
her head, tentatively at first, then harder, feeling the haircoat--so much
rougher, more bristly, than the typical cat or dog that usually visited.

After
Reggie let all the residents pet her, she performed her dog tricks, which she
hadn’t practiced at home for quite a while.
Though doing her tricks bored Reggie, she accommodated when she was out
in public. The elder crowd, clearly
amazed by such a talented animal, clapped and cheered as Reggie finished her
thirtieth trick and bowed to the crowd.

Back
at home Becky concentrated on teaching Reggie letters of the alphabet. She flashed a card and pronounced the letter,
and Reggie looked hard at the flashcard.
Becky could see she was concentrating.
Becky taught Reggie five letters at a time—all ones that sounded
different—so that Reggie could distinguish the sounds with the different shapes
of the letters. Then, Becky tested her:
holding two cards. When Reggie nudged
the wrong card, Becky said, “No, try again, Reggie.” Then Becky asked again for the letter, and
Reggie nudged the other flashcard, for which Becky rewarded her with a Cheerio.

In
a few weeks Reggie had mastered the entire alphabet, even so far as spelling
entire words. Becky asked her to spell
her own name. Becky said, “Spell
‘Reggie,’ Hon.” Then, Becky held out the
“R” flashcard along with an “N” card.
“You want the “R,” Reggie. Reggie
stepped forward and nudged the “R.”
Becky kept showing Reggie two flashcards at a time, one of which was the
next letter in her name. Making no mistake,
Reggie spelled her own name in under two minutes.

Reggie
delighted in her mother’s ecstatic reaction when she got her letters
correct. And Becky often marveled how it
seemed Reggie actually was thinking—pausing after being asked to pick out a
letter, then stepping carefully forward and touching the correct flashcard with
her snout. Soon, spelling names was
added to Reggie’s repertoire of talents during her visits to the nursing homes.

During
the hot and humid summer, Becky hated to take Reggie out into the heat for
therapy work, so she and Reggie stayed inside where they rehearsed numbers and
colors. Summer also gave Becky time for
making Reggie’s costumes, sewn or hot-glued with feathers, flowers, sequins,
and plastic “jewels” —for Valentine’s Day, Memorial Day, St. Patrick’s Day and
all the different seasons.

Summertime
also found Reggie’s family camping at Ringing Rocks campground every
weekend. Often, when her parents weren’t
watching, Reggie sneaked off to other parts of the camp, intent on making new
friends. When Becky discovered Reggie
missing, she ran to the campground’s office and asked them to make a
loudspeaker announcement for all kids on bikes to form a posse to find a lost
pig. But Reggie was hardly lost:
grunting at folks and seeming to say, “Hi. I’m the pig.
Nice to meet ya.”

One
time Becky adorned Reggie in a hula skirt and lei to protest a pig roast at the
campgrounds. Reggie wore a straw skirt
and a T-shirt that read, “We are not the other white meat!” Weekends at Ringing Rocks campground passed
all too soon, and once the hot weather broke, Reggie and Becky were back on the
road visiting the nursing homes, libraries, public schools and hospitals.

One
particularly memorable moment occurred on a visit to an adult day care
center. After performing her dog tricks
and spelling a couple of the residents’ names, Becky and Reggie were set to
leave and head to McDonald’s for Reggie’s favorite treat-French Fries.

On
their way out of the adult center, they passed a man sitting in an adult high
chair. He was leaning over his
tray. Reggie stopped at his high chair,
and Becky tugged on Reggie’s leash, “Come on, Reggie. We’re going to McDonald’s now.” But Reggie wouldn’t budge. She stood before the catatonic man sitting in
his high chair, his eyes closed, his head bent.
Becky tugged on Reggie’s leash, but she refused to move.

Soon
a nurse came along. She said to Becky,
“Joe has cataracts. Though he still can
see, he never opens his eyes when he’s inside the building. He never opens his eyes.”

The
nurse said to Joe, “Joe, there’s a pot-bellied pig here to see you. Open your eyes and look at the pig.” But Joe refused, sitting stolid and
impenetrable.

Reggie
nudged his leg again and let out a loud grunt.
Finally, Joe sat up, opened his eyes, and looked over his tray at the
floor. Reggie looked up, and when he saw
the little black pig wearing her black-eyed Susan-rimmed sunglasses, he started
to laugh and laugh and laugh. He laughed
so hard tears were coming down his eyes.
The nurse marveled that it had been the first time Joe had ever opened
his eyes inside.

Not
only did Reggie startle Joe out of his blind stupor, but she also performed a
couple of other miracles during her therapy travels. At the WoodsSchool,
a live-in facility for the severely disabled, one blind and mute male resident
whose depression made him nasty and difficult to deal with always looked
forward to seeing Reggie. Each time
Reggie saw Stan, she stood up on her hind feet, her front feet on his knees,
and let out a loud grunt-greeting. In
that moment Stan instantly morphed from an unsociable, almost sociopathic
personality, into a friendly personality.
The nurses always commented how Stan was so much happier and so much
easier to handle after Reggie’s visit.

While
Reggie treated the severely depressed and the elderly by day, by late afternoon
and evening she was back studying her flashcards. In between visits to nursing homes, studying
her flashcards, and visiting schools, Reggie managed the time to earn $15,000
for a charity in a Kiss the Pig contest.
Libraries, too, asked for Reggie’s services, and Becky, with Reggie’s
help, began putting on educational shows.

Each
show began with Becky introducing Reggie to her audience. Like the good, attentive pig she was, Reggie
always greeted her audiences by lifting a front leg and waving her hoof. Then, as Reggie, wearing either her bunny,
Valentine’s Day, Tina Turner, clown, or elf outfit waited, Becky explained where Reggie came
from and what she did as a therapy pig.
Becky always varied Reggie’s performance because she refused doing a
routine that bored her.

As
Reggie performed, Becky taught children and adults the history of the
pot-bellied pig as well as reading them scientific documentation of their
intelligence. She dispelled the myths
about pigs being dirty, slow and slovenly.
Last, she advised her audience on how the pot-bellied pig made a fine
companion animal. She described her
efforts to remove the pot-bellied pig from livestock status and, instead, be
accepted as a companion pet. She urged
audiences to support laws allowing pet pigs companion-animal status.

The
most amazing feat Reggie ever accomplished was not only identifying numbers from her flashcards but adding and
subtracting them, too. Unbelievable
though it may seem, Reggie, given two flashcards, could add them or subtract
them. Becky herself couldn’t believe
Reggie began adding and subtracting, but it happened, by accident, one day
while they were practicing Reggie’s flashcards in the living room.

On
a lark, Becky said, “Do you think you can add two numbers, Reggie?” Becky held up a “1” and a “2”. She said, “Do you know what “1” and “2” add
up to?” Then, she held up two flashcards,
one with “3” and the other with “9.”
Without giving any cues, something Becky never anyway, Reggie paused, then
stepped toward the “3” and nudged it.
For sure that had to be coincidence, Becky thought. Surely a pig couldn’t add numbers, so she
tried it again and again. Only a few
times did Reggie make a mistake.

Once
Becky discovered Reggie could add and later, even subtract, she included those
talents in Reggie’s performances. Her
ability to do simple math problems stunned her audiences. Becky reminded folks that since pigs had the
intelligence of a three-year-old child, perhaps it wasn’t all that miraculous
that Reggie was able to do math.

During
another performance, Becky walked into the audience, Reggie on stage, and she
asked a child to pick out a flashcard printed with a giant colored crayon. Then, after the child picked out one color
from the stack, Becky showed the card to the audience and took that card, along
with one other, back on stage. Reggie
stood waiting on stage. “Now don’t say
the color’s name out loud,” Becky warned the youngster-audience. Everyone was dead quiet. Could Reggie read minds? Then, Becky held that chosen colored
flashcard out alongside one other color.
“OPick the color Cindy and the audience is thinking of, Reggie.”

At
first, Reggie hung back, not too anxious to commit herself to a color she
couldn’t even see. Becky chuckled to
herself. She believed Reggie was
searching for vibes from the audience. A
minute passed, and the audience began whispering, for they could see Reggie
concentrating, too. Then, as Becky held
the two colored flashcards at Reggie’s nose-level, Reggie stepped forward and
hit the blue card. The little girl in
the audience jumped up, squealing, her hands cupping her mouth, and the
audience clapped and cheered.

By
1995, Becky began fighting city councils’ ordinances against keeping pigs,
considered livestock under Pennsylvania
law, as companion animals in city homes.
So afraid was she of losing her own Reggie to an out-dated town law that
she became an avid activist for allowing pet pigs in households. So, while Reggie’s main work as a therapy pig
and an entertainer continued, she also supported, alongside Becky, the fight
against the pot-bellied pig being considered livestock. The more people saw how civilized could be,
the more inclined town council members would be to pass laws accommodating the
pet pig.

Despite
Reggie’s good-natured personality, she was no pushover, neither at home nor in
public. At home she could be a brat if
she didn’t get her way. If Becky didn’t
arrive home promptly to give Reggie her dinner, Reggie, in no subtle way,
informed her of her displeasure: she began flipping the dining room chairs and
rearranging the furniture. If Becky was
talking on the phone and Reggie discovered her water dish empty, she began
rubbing her snout on something, making a loud rasping noise, almost like chalk squeaking on a
chalkboard. When Reggie opened the back
sliding-glass door to go outside to relieve herself, she never closed it,
letting in scores of bugs and, one time, a squirrel. Becky’s friends and relatives all knew Reggie
could be a pistol when she wanted.

Even
when she was in public, she wasn’t fawning or subservient. Though she loved most folks, she approached
them with dignity, her head held with pride, an attitude bordering on aloof. For sure Reggie knew she had a higher purpose
and that she was special in many
ways. She loved every minute of her
interaction with people, but she would have no silliness and disliked any tone
of voice that sounded like mockery or as though she was being laughed at.

On
a couple of occasions, after Becky dressed Reggie in her signature black-eyed
Susan costume and sunglasses, Reggie would rush against a wall, trying to knock
off her glasses. Then picked them up in
her jaws and bit down, breaking them in half.
Reggie was pissed off, but Becky didn’t know why. After Reggie destroyed six more pairs of glasses, Becky finally
called the animal communicator. The
communicator came to Becky’s house and “talked” with Reggie. She said Reggie hated the glasses because she
looked silly in them and people laughed at her.
She wanted people to appreciate her intelligence, so from then on Becky
never made Reggie wear glasses again.

In
1995 the mayor of Philadelphia, Ed Rendell, was asked to judge a pot-bellied
pig beauty contest in honor of the opening of the Broadway show, “State Fair”—a
show about a pig winning first place at the fair—at the Merriam Theatre on
Broad Street in downtown Philly. The
swiners, all costumed, paraded down a red carpet, performed, and Rendell judged
each for the best costume. Reggie was
dressed in her finest: a sequined gown with a fur stole.

Becky
was also hoping, by introducing Reggie to the Mayor and showing him how
well-behaved and well-mannered she was, that he might use his influence to help
change the law regarding pigs as pets in the city of Philadelphia.
To this day Becky is an activist who guides families cited for breaking
the livestock law because they have a pot-belly as a pet in their homes.

After
their meeting with Rendell, Becky and
Reggie in tow, climbed the remainder of the stairs to the top floor to
“crash” the City Council meeting in session.
Again with Reggie representing the pot-bellied pig community, Becky
intended to convince council members that pot-belly pigs make great pets. But no sooner had they stepped inside the
council chambers than Becky and Reggie were escorted back out. Film crewmen from TV Channel 17 had been
filming the council proceedings and followed Becky and Reggie out into the hall
where, alongside Reggie dressed in her signature outfit, Becky made the case for taking the pet pig out of the
livestock laws.

Becky’s
cause eventually took Reggie to a Shelton,
Connecticut, courtroom in 1996 for a zoning appeal hearing in which a
decision was handed down to uphold the livestock laws in that town, thus
forbidding pet pigs as companion animals.
The defendant, who was willing to go to jail to keep custody of her pet
pigs, lost her bid against the city livestock laws and was fined $25,000 for
having two pot-bellied pigs. Because she
was unable to pay the fines up front, a lien was put against her house. Though Becky and Reggie were escorted out of
the courtroom, a photographer took their photo standing proudly on the
courthouse steps, a photo which later won the journalist a first place award in
photo-journalism. And the TV news
documentary show, 20/20, featured the Shelton, Connecticut case in a segment on bad laws in America. Reggie’s other television performance
occurred weeks later on the TV show, “America’s Greatest Pets.”

For
the next several years Reggie continued her therapy work and entertaining in
elementary schools, hospitals and nursing homes. Every night, exhausted from such a heavy
schedule, Reggie fell asleep, as usual, in her mom’s arms, their noses
touching. And every night Becky thanked
Reggie for all she had done to change her life and inspire other people

Though
pigs may not have wings, Reggie gave Becky wings that allowed her to soar in so
many different directions, all of them positive and beneficial to both herself
and humankind. As Scott, a good friend
once commented to Becky, “Reggie is the dragon, and you are her rider.” Reggie was Becky’s Earth Angel, who protected
her and let her ride along until Becky was able to manage alone.

Not
only did Becky and the others benefit from Reggie’s inspiration, but Reggie
earned many kudos for herself. In 1997 Life Magazine paid her a special tribute
in their Celebrating Our Heroes’ Collector’s
Editionby acknowledging her as a
world hero. One out of 2,000 animals to earn the Delta Society’s Animal Therapy
designation and for being one of 28 animals nominated for the 1996 Therapy
Animal of the Year Award, Reggie took her place beside both human and animal
heroes of all time. Among others, Reggie
shared her award with human heroes: Abe Lincoln, Eleanor Roosevelt, Colin
Powell, Amelia Earhart, John Wayne, Mother Teresa, and Tecumseh. And among other animal heroes, Reggie shared
the limelight with the head sled-dog Balto, deliverer of life-saving diphtheria antitoxin to Nome
Alaska; Binti Jua, a gorilla who saved a three-year-old who fell into the
gorilla exhibit at an Illinois zoo; GI Joe, a carrier pigeon that flew a
valuable message to a U.S. airbase in WWII; and Scarlet, a calico mother cat
who carried each of her five kittens to safety from a fire.

Becky
always credits Reggie with having inspired her to be an activist against
pot-bellies being considered livestock.
Without Reggie she may not even have lived to realize that dream. Though she doubted the abilities of people to
read animals’ minds, she studied the practice herself and now considers herself
an animal communicator. She also works,
on her own, with autistic people. Without
Reggie, Becky claims, she would have been a rather ordinary person.

Reggie
died November 5, 2007.

Reggie’s
Memorial

Becky’s
entire house is a memorial to Reggie.

Every
wall is festooned with Reggie in various poses: looking up at the mayor of
Philadelphia; peering from the driver’s side window of her Lincoln Continental;
sitting in her mother’s lap; participating in a kissing contest; lying amongst the wildflowers; taking a snack
from Becky’s hand; Reggie and Becky at the drive-in movies; and others.

Tucked
into a corner of Becky DiNolfi’s living room is a memory spot with many, but
certainly not all, of Reggie’s mementoes and awards encircling her box of ashes
with the photo of her Life Magazine Hero honor--her leaning over a barn Dutch
door--her smile as wide as the door opening itself. Various stones and a
pyramidal crystal sit near her box—all meant to protect and help her spirit
transition into the next world. And a
rose quartz stone, signifying love, sits nearby.

On
another table sit several photographs of Reggie wearing her black-eyed Susan
hat and necklace along with photos of Becky hugging Reggie. Her black harness with her registration medal
from the Delta Society, which she earned on January 1996, sits next to the
cremains box, and next to it, a sculpture of a pig with wings. Nearby sits her flashcards and a ceramic book
and a plaque Reggie received on two different occasions as Random Acts of
Kindness awards.

Among
all the awards and accolades Reggie received during her lifetime, is framed a
poem Becky had written in Reggie’s honor entitled, “The Touch of Love”:

As I lie on the couch
my hand drifts down to feel the rough bristles on my Potbellied

Pig Reggie . . .

She is the scratchy
feel of love and companionship that only we can share. . . .

My Reggie and I have
passed through many trials and tribulations over the years

She has taught me so
much about the real meaning of why we are here on this planet. . . .

She asks nothing in
return for all the love and laughter she abounds. . . .

In
the dining room hangs an oil painting Becky did of Reggie in the same pose of
the Life Magazine photo. In the bathroom sits various pig figurines,
and in the bedroom hang photos of Reggie doing her flash card tricks during the
Fourth of July show at Big Bass Lake in the Poconos as well of photos of Reggie
peering out from Becky’s decorated pigmobile, the car they used for traveling
to pig events. Also in the bedroom are
photos of Reggie dressed in her beauty pageant gown and meeting Mayor Ed
Rendell again.

Reggie’s
entire life--her accomplishments, her personality, her socializing skills, her
intelligence, her love of her mom and other people--is memorialized on most
every wall of Becky’s home because Reggie, a pig who gave Becky her life back
and offered disadvantaged and not-so-disadvantaged people moments of happiness,
deserves a tribute of no less magnitude.

Of
Reggie, Becky wrote, “She made me who I am today and gave me the courage to
persevere under extreme circumstances that I thought would end my life. She gave me a reason to live and get out of
bed every day. We lived an amazing life
together. She brought me in contact with
the most wonderful friends anyone could ever hope to have. I am so grateful she was sent to me to share
my life even if it was for such a short time.
She taught me so much.

“I
have been able to accept the gifts she brought to me. She was definitely my soul mate. She taught me what is really important in
this life and time. She taught me
unconditional love, acceptance, patience, guts, courage. She taught me to laugh, but, most of all, she
taught me how to live my life out loud.”

Followers

About Me

Animals are my life. Today, living with my twenty-something house and barn cats, my four horses, six pot-bellied pigs, and the wild animls passing our home during the night,I write about my adventures with animals. Never is there a dull moment with my animal crew.
When, many years ago, I was helping my ex-husband deliver a buffalo calf during a blizzard, I was nearly run over by a buffalo and leaped into a snowdrift where I floundered up to the waist. That moment I decided that people would love to read about my adventures tending animals in the Pennsylvania Dutch country.
My goal is to entertain my readers, regard their advice, better the welfare of domestic and farm and wild animals through my writing and experiences.
I hope all my friends and readers will come to cherish spending time with animals and appreciating the calm, the honesty, and the comedy that resides naturally within them.